


Là où naissent les couleurs nouvelles - where the new colors are born

by w0lfmoon



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 02:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12288981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/w0lfmoon/pseuds/w0lfmoon
Summary: Thranduil’s heart sung at the sight of you, his beloved, existing among the roses, as if that was where you truly belonged. As he listened to the words of your song, he noted that he could not recognize the language.A self indulgent Thranduil fluff fic inspired by a song by one of my favorite bands at the moment, Alcest.





	Là où naissent les couleurs nouvelles - where the new colors are born

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is a quick little self indulgent Thranduil x Reader fic I wrote as a reward of finishing a midterm essay within the timeframe I set for myself.
> 
> Inspired by the Alcest song, "Là où naissent les couleurs nouvelles" I highly recommend listening to it whilst reading.

 

The soft morning sun bounced off the silver hair of the Elvenking in a burst of luminous waves as he wandered reflectively through the royal rose gardens. It was a crisp, yet beautiful autumn morning, the leaves were a sea of various reds, oranges, browns, and yellows, Thranduil felt that he could get lost in them if he could. He felt at peace when he was amongst nature. After all, the Elves were the creatures closest to the earth around them. Their souls connected to the energy of the scenes around them. But with the responsibilities of a king, Thranduil had no time to be -- to simply get lost in the dreamy landscape around him. This morning, however, he managed to make the time.

 

He was broken out of his reverie, however, when he heard a soft voice singing from the near distance. Enchanted, Thranduil decided to follow the sound, and it was in the most remote spot of the gardens, in which most of the blood red roses populated, where he saw you, sitting in the middle of the sea of red, wearing a brilliant f/c gown, made of the finest silk, your long, delicate h/c hair blowing carelessly in the soft morning wind. Thranduil’s heart sung at the sight of you, his beloved, existing among the roses, as if that was where you truly belonged. As he listened to the words of your song, he noted that he could not recognize the language:

 

**_“J'ai toujours vécu ici pourtant_ ** ****_  
_ **_Tel un étranger errant_ ** ****_  
_ **_Sur cette terre, esseulé,_ ** ****_  
_ **_En perpétuel détachement,_ ** ****_  
_ **_J'entends en moi l'appel d'un autre univers_ ** **_  
_ ** ****_Qui résonne amèrement._

 

_ (I've always lived here but _ __   
_ Like a stranger wandering _ __   
_ On this earth, alone, _ __   
_ Forever detached, _ __   
_ I hear within myself the calling of another universe _ _   
_ __ Which echoes bitterly.)

 

It was a delicate language, one that seemed to flow effortlessly off your tongue. It was then Thranduil remembered that you were not from this world, but from another with its own customs and tongues. When Thranduil first found you, lost and confused in the middle of the Mirkwood forest, he wasn’t sure what to make of you, only that you held a silent grace and stunning beauty that he was already immediately drawn to. He remembers how your sweet h/c doe-eyes looked when you first gazed upon him, something that was a mix of intrigue and enchantment, and he noticed that you did not fear him, as many other creatures did when they found themselves lost in his realm. That is when he knew you were not apart of this world.

 

Once he had you changed into more suitable clothing, as yours were torn and dirty, he sat with you over some wine from his personal cellar and simply talked about you and where you were from. The moment you opened your delicate lips, Thranduil knew he was doomed. The honey of your voice mesmerized him, there was such a delicate serenity in your voice that he could fall into a calming sleep listening to you speak.

 

**_Les yeux rivés vers le ciel,_ ** ****_  
_ **_Portant le fardeau de mon corps,_ ** ****_  
_ **_Je perçois ma demeure_ ** **_  
_ ** ****_Perdue dans les nuées._

 

_ (Eyes looking up to the sky, _ __   
_ Bearing the burden of my body, _ __   
_ I see my home _ _   
_ __ Lost in the swarm.)

 

You didn’t even seem to see him standing in front of you, watching you sing. Your eyes were closed, and your red lips were parted ever so slightly, your cheeks flushed with the softest of pinks. Thranduil was certain that the Valar sent you to remind him of the pure beauty that could possibly ever exist in this world. He hasn’t been this enthralled by a creature in over a millennia, not since the departure of his beloved. Looking at you sometimes, he wonders if you are a reincarnation of her, from another time, another place. Both of you have a beauty that no other creature could compare, and a compassion that greatly surpassed his. 

 

**D'ici bas je perçois ma demeure,** ****  
**Ses prairies éternelles** ****  
**Perdues dans les nuées.** ****  
**Là où naissent les couleurs nouvelles,** **  
** **Là où mon coeur et mon âme sont restés.”**

  
  


  
_ (From here below I see my home, _ __   
_ Its eternal meadows _ __   
_ Lost in the swarms. _ __   
_ Where the new colors are born, _ _   
_ __ Where my heart and soul stayed.)

 

As you sang the remaining words of the song, Thranduil couldn’t help but clap gently, yet loud enough to break you from your own reverie. 

 

“That...was absolutely beautiful, melamin.” And Thranduil couldn’t help but smirk when he noticed that the faint pink blush deepened to a darker crimson. Oh how adorable you were when you were flustered. 

 

“Oh Thranduil, my love, I didn’t see you there. Did you really like it?” You say, in a quiet whisper reserved only for him. 

 

“I adored it, ai er. But I can’t help but wonder about the language. I know it has to be from your world, but what is it exactly? It sounds utterly divine.” 

 

“Oh, it’s French, my love. I spoke it rather fluently back home. It’s a beautiful language to sing it, romantic, and soft. Thranduil, my love, come sit by me, I want to be close to you. Come get lost in the roses with me.” 

 

And how could he refuse you? He laughed softly as you reached out for his hands and pulled him next to you. He was amazed by your strength, despite the fact you were much smaller than him and only barely reached his torso standing by him.

 

As soon as he was beside you, he reached for you and pulled you gently into him so you were resting your head on his chest, and his hands were absentmindedly running through your hair.    
  


“Tell me, melamin, do you know any terms of endearment in this French?” 

 

“Of course, mon cœur,” you smiled, looking up at him with your shiny eyes, “that means my heart.” And you gently kissed his neck, to which he sighed contently. 

 

“Beautiful...mon cœur...I love that. Now I have another name to call you now, ai er.” Thranduil laughed as he pulled you up so you were laying in his lap now. You giggled at your lover, and adjusted yourself so you could bury your face into his neck and to place gentle, yet persistent butterfly kisses against the hollow of his throat. 

 

“Thranduil..” 

 

“Yes...mon cœur?” and you briefly left your place in his neck to smile up  at him, your heart beaming at his (successful) attempt to woo you in French. 

 

“ je t'aime. I love you.” 

 

“amin mela lle” _I love you._

 

And with that, you somehow managed to bury yourself closer into Thranduil, as his grip on you tightened, and he lifted your face to give you gentle kisses, and you both lose yourself in the sea of roses and a gentle autumn breeze. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Elvish translations
> 
> melamin - my love   
> ai er - little one


End file.
